


Gotta Get Out

by orphan_account



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Claustrophobia, F/M, Gore, M/M, Original Character(s), Self-Insert, Suspense, Swearing, Violence, Walkers (Walking Dead), Walking Dead AU, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was nothing like the movies.<br/>The military didn't come.<br/>It wasn't gradual.<br/>It didn't start with a cough.<br/>Millions of people just dropped dead, and reanimated. That's how it went down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monstersinc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstersinc/gifts).



> Inspired by my lovely Sarah's new interest in the Walking Dead. I hope you guys like it, and don't forget to leave Kudos and Comments!

  
___

Calum Hood, age nineteen, skilled in football and running. Weapon of choice, baseball bat.   
He'd been camping alone when it happened. He'd not thought anything of the barren highways, but when he'd seen old Mrs. Holland from down the street with a knife sticking out of her chest, and she was still moving down the sidewalk, he'd been tipped off to a strange goings on.   
Parking his truck in the driveway beside his mother's station wagon, Calum had hurried inside, only to be attacked by a zombified version of his older sister.

He couldn't bring himself to kill her, even when he found his parents, dead lying in the kitchen, too eaten to come back to life.   
He'd cried, of course, and driven Mali into a closet upstairs. Calum was surprised at his ability to not get eaten alive, to be honest.   
There was enough canned food in the cupboard for him for now, and enough scrap wood in the garage to fortify the doors and windows...   
All he could do was wait it out.

___

Ashton had begged his mother to not do this. He knew that,  if there was anything less safe than home, it was the road. Mum had insisted that they could make it to her parent's house, her and her three children.

At first, it was fine, but only three hours into the travel, the car broke down, and they ran into a herd.   
Ashton hadn't ever smelled anything so horrible in his life. Rotting flesh and blood, and all he could do was stand there and watch as his mother was torn apart.   
What could he do? He had to protect Lauren and Harry.   
They sheltered in the car for as long as they could,  living on the meager supplies they'd brought, until the hoard passed on. That was when the little band of kids made their way down the barren highway, towards the town.   
The same way the hoard had gone.   
Ashton Irwin, age twenty-one. Above average strength, quick thinking. Weapon of choice, crowbar.

He lost his family, forced to watch them die. Wandering alone, he is very quiet, and very dangerous. No one knows what the death of the only purpose in one's life does to a mind.

___

Having been on his own already, Luke got off to a rough start in the apocalypse.  Sure, he worked at a grocery store, and he was able to build up a stockpile, but again, he was alone. No weapons, no home, he lived in his car already, and sure, that made it a little easier, but to be honest, he didn't know why he was fighting. Barely any muscle on him, gangly and awkward, he was hopeless. Zombie bait for sure.

That is, until he discovered he was particularly skilled with a hunting knife.

Luke Hemmings, age eighteen. Quick on his feet, knowledgeable regarding motor vehicles. Weapon of choice, long blade hunting knife.   
Luke found Ashton wandering an abandoned building, and had nearly gotten his brains bashed in with a crowbar for it. The older boy was starving, and thanks to Luke, he's survived this long.

The two travel together, watching each other's backs.

  ---

Michael knew the world was ending, but he couldn't do a thing about it. He had no means of weaponry, no insanely stockpiled food, and no way to get out.   
His parents were killed the first day thatthat everything went to hell. He'd dealt with it the only way he could think of. A kitchen knife through the head.   
Michael thought he was alone in the world, that he was the only living person left.   
Michael Clifford, age nineteen. Versed in zombie matters, knowledgeable in strategy. Weapon of choice, axe.   
Barriacading himself in his bedroom, Michael watches the destruction from his bedroom window. It's all over.   
Until he sees a light on next door.

________

 

The sky was dark, barely visible through the grime caked windows of the old disgusting truck,  the doors locked firmly against the assaulting, mutilated, half decayed walking corpses, slamming against the rusted metal to get to the flesh and blood on the inside of the auto.   
Blue eyes watched with half interest as the owner reclined in the seat, slender arms crossed over broad chest, the frayed flannel that adorned his body stained with dirt and blood. Not his, of course. At least, he didn't think so.

"Luke?" The voice came from the passenger seat, and the young man turned, pushing his beanie up, eyes falling on his sleepy companion.

"Yeah, Ash?" He asked,  voice low and cracking from disuse. They didn't talk much, not anymore. There wasn't a lot to say.

The end times were quiet. Why should Luke be any different?   
Ashton, on the other hand, was always making noise. Nothing dangerous, of course.   
Just quiet humming and soft tapping of his fingers or toes. Luke liked it. It was comforting to him.

"How much water is left?" Ashton asked, staring up at the shredded fabric that was the ceiling.

"Enough for a couple hours." He answered, watching the rise and fall of the older man's chest as he gave a sigh.

"We can't stay here forever. The Walkers, they'll leave eventually. Right?" Hazel eyes look up, pleading for the scrap of hope Luke always gave.

"Yeah, they'll get bored eventually. They don't wanna eat you. You're stringy and tough." The blond teased, earning an eye roll.  
It was nice-  
Okay, it would have been if undead monsters weren't trying to break the windows and eat them, but... it was nice, not being alone anymore.

It was quiet except for the snarling and banging of the Walkers, trying to get to their meal. Luke looked over at Ashton, who was staring at the dashboard as if it had severely wronged him, his long fingers tugging at the holes in his jeans.

"There's no battery." He mumbled, and Luke nodded. It had already been looted when they sheltered in this car. Luke didn't know what Ashton was thinking, until he sat up, leaning down and picking up his bloodstained crowbar from the floorboard.

"I'm gonna break the window and draw them over here. You get out and come around the back." The curly haired boy said, preparing himself, squaring his shoulders and psyching himself up.

"That's dangerous, Ash; are you sure?" Luke asked, a hand on the door handle, the other on the knife at his hip. That earned him nothing but a glare, and he huffed. He knew not to question Ashton, but he did it anyway.   
"Alright. Three, two-" The older looked over at his friend once more before ramming the bar through the disgusting window with a loud bang, drawing the attention of the dead, just as planned. The glass fell to the ground, and instantly, Walkers began to reach in, only to be greeted with cold steel through the head. Blood spattered Ashton,  but he didn't stop. Not after five, not after ten. Eventually there was a clear enough space for Luke to throw open his door, and leap out of the car and onto the dusty pavement. There were at least seven, all clawing at the space to get to the breather in the vehicle.   
The blond wasted no time. Pulling his blade, he quickly ridded the undead of their living states, killing the stragglers before hurrying to the crowd. Again, he jammed his knife into zombie after zombie, not letting their putrid teeth get close enough to bite.

With the two working as a team, the remaining Walkers were taken care of easily, and Luke was wiping his knife on the hem of his flannel while Ashton got out of the car.

"That could have been worse." The older said, wiping blood splatter from his face with the sleeve of his coat before turning and going around to search the truck. Luke gave an grunt of agreement, kneeling down to retie the laces of his ratty combat boots without even thinking about looking around for any danger. He didn't hear anything, not until the shuffling and snarling was right behind him, then on top of him. He was being pinned down, teeth clacking in his ear, and Luke couldn't reach his knife.

"Ashton!" He cried out, trying to push his decayed assailant away, only barely managing to avoid becoming a meal. His heart was pounding in terror, the weight on his back and clawing hands scratching at his neck made him giving a pathetic noise of pain.

"Luke!" Came the gasped reply, and suddenly the heft was off of him,  and Ashton was giving a shout of effort, bringing a heavy boot down on the weakened bone of the Walker's skull, making one big puddle of brain soup on the rough concrete.   
Luke rolled onto his back, sucking in the little oxygen the humid, heavy atmosphere had to offer. His heart was beating like the drums Ashton thought so highly of, his hands locked over his own neck. It didn't even occur to him that his name was being called until all he saw was a pair of hazel eyes, large hands on his shoulders.

"Luke! Luke, did he bite you?! Are you okay?! Talk to me!" Ashton begged, and the blond  slowly sat up, the older boy practically in his lap.  
He inspected himself, running his hands over his stomach, then his chest, then his own scratched up, bloodied neck. He felt his face, then dragged his fingers through his hair.

"...Luke?" The honey haired boy asked, catching his eye again.

"I... I lost my beanie." He mumbled, and Ashton let out a choked noise, making him sit back on his haunches as he straddled Luke's thighs.

"You are pathetic, you weird ass." He muttered, breathing a sigh of relief before hugging the taller boy tightly.

"Don't do it again." Ashton muttered into Luke's shoulder, and he laughed quietly.

"No promises."

 

 

 

"Sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine- hehe."

He was an adult. Duh. Any self respecting adult laughed at sixty-nine.   
Michael wasn't pathetic, he was bored. Green eyes had busied themselves, pale fingers tracing over each individual dig in the maroon paint, counting the tally marks he'd scratched into the wall over the time he'd been trapped in his own home.

"Seventy. Seventy-one. Seventy-two." He finished,  picking at the splintered drywall.   
"Seventy-two days alone, Mike. Not bad, yeah? Not to mention stretching food that long..." Emerald hues flicked to the last of his rations sitting beside him on the ripped up carpet, and he turned, surveying his surroundings. He'd grown so used to this, the emptiness of the house, the only sound being the roaring and growling of the undead outside his house. The stainless steel butcher's knife lay beside him, ans he wrung his pale hands, nearly covered by the sweater paws that came with the oversized hoodie he was wearing. It'd been his dad's, and now the plain forest green garment was comforting to him. He wore torn black jeans, his Vans on his feet, as if he was going somewhere.   
Again, he looked to his meager food stock. All he had was half a sleeve of crackers and a small can of peas left, and he knew that he was fucked. This was it. He wasn't going to die a bitching death, going down in a reign of gunfire and blood and guts, no.   
He was going to starve to death. Awesome.

So, these were his last days. Spent on a DS and staring out a window.   
He'd already beat the Elite Four three times, and he was pretty sure his whole street was dead. After all, he'd seen old Mrs Holland from down the street hobbling down the road with a knife sticking out of her back as she dropped on a poor cat. That was probably the worst thing Michael had seen to date, watching his next door neighbor eat the stray cat he fed every day after school.

He groaned, leaning forward and knocking his head against the glass of the window, watching the Walkers mull around in the street. Nothing abnormal.   
"Just another day in paradise." He muttered, studying the eight foot high chain link fence that adorned the lawn across the road, the gate wide open and a white pickup truck in the driveway.   
"Hm. The Hoods." He remembered the neighbors vaguely, mostly their gorgeous daughter, but there was also a pretty cute guy his age living there. He never learned their names, but he was sure they were all dead. Well, maybe. The guy had been good at football and street hockey, maybe he'd gotten out.   
No, he didn't sit at the window and watch him.   
That would be weird.   
That's why he sat on the porch and watched him.

Michael sighed, leaning back and grabbing the sleeve of crackers, pulling two out and nibbling at the corner of one before looking back out across the street and nearly choking on the dry grain.   
Walkers were gathering at the front door of the Hood house, clawing and pounding at the door.

Someone was in there.

"Holy fucking shit!" He gasped, dropping his food and grabbing his knife and sprinting down the stairs, like a moron. He wasn't thinking about anything but helping the living person get out of harm's way.   
Wait! He needed a plan! He stopped as he hit the bottom of the stairwell, his knuckles white.   
He needed to draw them out of there... Maybe a loud noise? What if he... Yes! Yes, that was perfect! He grinned, rushing to the kitchen, nearly slipping on the linoleum as he ran, throwing his knife onto the countertop and clambering up himself. Thank goodness for being six feet tall.

Throwing an arm atop the cabinets, he felt around for what he was looking for, groaning when he didn't find anything.

"Come the fuck on, I know they're here... Yes!" He gave a shout of celebration when he grabbed up the small box, reading the bright red wording on the yellow cardboard.   
Firecrackers.   
Hell yes.

Grabbing a lighter from the junk drawer, he left the kitchen and ran for the front door, his blade completely forgotten as he took a deep breath, wrenching the door open.

"Hey! Yeah you, mother fuckers! Come on, I'm talking to you, ugly! Come here!" He shouted, fracturing the silence that has settled over the world like a blanket.   
The undead- every single one of them- turned to look at him, and began to shamble across the road towards him.   
He didn't light the fireworks yet, he needed them to be closer. Closer.... closer, dammit!

"That's right, you ugly fuck! Come on!" He grinned, now jumping up and down on the porch.    
Alright... Now. Sparking the lighter, he lit the fireworks before backing into the house and slamming the door shut just as one of the zombies tried to reach in. Welp, now his severed fingers were on the floor and blood was on his mother's rug... Cool.

The loud bangs resonated through the foyer, making Michael jump a mile into the air before remembering that he was the one to set it off. Idiot.   
He giggled like a dork, turning and opening the living room window slowly, silently, and carefully, quietly climbing out into the yard. Thankfully, all the dead were busy, trying to eat the front door, giving him ample time to sprint across the dead grass,  into the dusty street, and towards the chain link fence. Wait a second, his way in- The gate was closed! The asshole had come out and closed it! Fuck!  
So, option number two.   
Michael linked his finger through the metal wiring, and hauled himself upward. Only eight feet, he could do this. He climbed slowly, his feet continually slipping free of the diamond shaped holes, the chain rattling as he stumbled. He looked over his shoulder, cringing as he saw that his fire crackers had stopped, and some of the Walkers had begun to break off of the pack, and now, at least fifteen stragglers were wandering straight for him. Fuck.   
Pulling himself up faster, he sucked in a deep breath as he reached the top. Swinging a leg over the top, he felt so accomplished! Until he felt himself slipping, thankfully, towards the safe side. All the same, he didn't want to fall eight feet...  
Pulling his leg up, he yelped, trying to save himself from falling, feeling something rip through his jeans and pierce the soft skin of his calf.   
"Fuck!" He cried out, the loose metal wire tearing through his flesh. Distracted by the pain, he fell straight down, landing hard on his back and falling out of consciousness.

 

 

Stupid Luke. Stupid damned Luke. Three years younger, three more years to make him beyond nervous with his stupid, angsty nerd ways. How dare he!   
Ashton nearly lost his damn mind, seeing that Walker pinning his friend to the asphalt, trying to take a chunk out of him. He wasn't having it.   
You mess with Luke? You get a boot through the head.   
He was still clinging to Luke when the blond cleared his throat, mentioning that, as much as he loved cuddling with Ashton, they couldn't continue hugging it out in the middle of the zombie infested wasteland. He'd seemed a little reluctant to release him, but all the same, the older boy slowly got up, brushing off his jeans, then turned back to the car, running a hand through his messy hair as he opened the back passenger door of the old thing. In the back seat were their supplies; Luke's backpack, Ashton's messenger back and poncho, and a couple towels. Tossing Luke's bag to him, Ash slung his bag about it shoulders, followed by the thick wool blanket-like covering, and grabbed a towel to wipe the blood from his crowbar.

"So, North?" He asked, watching his blond companion with wary eyes. Luke had a tendency to keep to himself, not talking about it if he got hurt and 'dealing with it himself'. What a moron. But he was Ashton's moron, so...

"North. See what we find. Maybe those rich people apartments are abandoned. I bet we could afford the rent now." Luke chuckled, and Ashton snorted.

"Are you asking me to move in with you?" He asked, and the younger shrugged.

"Yeah, why not? We could settle down, have a couple kids."

The suggestion chilled Ashton's blood. Kids? No. It didn't matter whose kids; Kids were a nope. Not since Harry and Laura....   
No.

Cold as ice and bitter as black coffee, Ashton glared, shoving past Luke as he began to walk.

"I'd die first."

He knew Luke knew about his aversion to kids. He'd told Luke about his siblings, but apparently, he'd been hit over the head.

Loud, running footsteps sounded behind him as his companion caught up, and as he glanced at him, he saw the guilt.

"Sorry, Ash, I wasn't thinking." He mumbled, and the older sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, I know."

The two fell silent, their feet making the only noise for miles. Hopefully.

The two walked close, even though Luke's longer legs threatened to overtake Ashton easily, but he paced himself to match his smaller counterpart's stride. Walking at night was dangerous and stupid, but they were capable. Fearless.   
Sort of.

It was nearing dawn when Ashton's thighs began to burn. How long had they been walking for...?   
The trees were getting thinner now, and the road was narrowing out. In the distance, small structures could be seen- buildings.

"A town?" Luke asked, glancing at Ashton, who nodded, clutching his crowbar tightly.

"Guard up." He mumbled, and the blond pulled his knife, looking around for any dead or humans who meant them harm.

Ashton was against killing living people. Like, insanely against. Even killing Walkers made him hesitate. They looked so alive, still, and he was still training himself to not have a conscience when it came to zombies. Stupid, sure.

Luke had killed living people before. He'd told Ashton accidentally one night, and Ash had wanted to run away screaming, but he hadn't. After all, it was a different world. He trusted Luke.

The pair entered the ramshackle town slowly, taking in the run down environment. Power lines stretched over the one road, leaves and ivy dripping over the wires. On either side of Main Street, there were tiny shops and cafes, windows shattered and clearly looted.

"Where did this place even come from?" Luke asked, eyes focused on a little food store, the grey paint peeling from the exterior and the doors ripped from their hinges.   
This town seemed abandoned, probably one of the first places to fall in the rapid terror attacks on the world. Evidence of Walkers was everywhere, and Ashton frowned, noticing something odd in the intersecting crossroad on Main Street, the second street labeled, appropriately, 2nd Street.   
Lined up on 2nd Street,  there were Walker traps: spikes of metal, four in each, set together so that, if one were to walk into it, they would become impaled and stuck.   
But there were only a couple stuck o n the traps... that didn't make sense. If the town was uninhabited, the traps would be full. Someone was here, then.   
Grabbing Luke's sleeve, he gave a small tug, pointing to the intersection that was only twenty feet ahead. Luke paused, looking at them, then at the surrounding buildings, unaffected by the snarling of the zombies in front of them.

"Well... I guess we ought to be looking for other living people?" He suggested, looking at Ashton,  who gave a careful, hesitant nod. This was dangerous business. What if they weren't friendly?

"Cautiously." Luke added, and Ashton nodded, more confident this time.   
Before they could carry out their plan, however, a loud bang sounded, from an alley not three feet ahead of them, sounding like trashcans being knocked over. The boys jumped to attention, ready to kill some Walkers, but as a shrill cry of pain echoed into the streets, Ashton stopped, staring at Luke for a moment.   
Putting his finger to his lips, he held his crowbar tighter as he slowly approached the mouth of the alleyway. It was then that they saw the cause.   
A small woman was trapped there, a dumpster rolled on top of her foot. Her eyes met Ash's, and she gasped, trying to free herself more vigorously, tugging and whimpering like a puppy.

"Luke, keep watch." Ashton ordered, getting a small nod in return.

The alley was deceiving- It looked to be a dead end, but there was a wooden fence, and, if the ten or fifteen metal trashcans on the ground, tossed about and askew were anything to go off of, they'd been knocked over when the girl had scaled the fence.

"Don't kill me!" She gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. The boy shook his head, moving forward carefully, looking down at the situation.

"Are you alone?" He asked, kneeling beside her and digging around in his bag, hoping he'd not lost what he was looking for.

"N-no, my group, they... we were on patrol and we split up." She whimpered,  and Ash nodded, pulling from his bag, a belt. Inching forward, he slipped it beneath her leg, just above her knee, and fastened it tightly. The break was bad, and he knew that it was liable to heal incorrectly. Better to at least try to prevent that.   
The curly haired boy looked up at her face, surveying her mousy hair and blue eyes, and he knew that she'd never been alone a day in her life.

"If we help you, you help us, okay? You take us to your camp. We aren't bad guys." He promised, watching as she nodded quickly, biting into her lip hard.   
"Alright. Luke! Come help me."   
Instantly the blond was at his side, and Ashton directed him to hold the girl under the arms while he pushed the heavy object off of her.

"Okay, one, two,  pull!" Ashton commanded, throwing himself against the dumpster, shoving it off the girl while Luke pulled her into his arms. She gave a wail of pain, but who could blame her?

"Hey, hey, shh... what's your name, love?" Ashton tried to soothe the weeping girl, taking her from Luke, who had a glint of- was that jealousy in his eyes? There was no time to handle that right now.

"T- Tate." She sniffled, putting an arm over Ashton's shoulders as he carried her.

"Alright, Tate. Which way is home?" He asked, and she opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off almost immediately by a gasp from Luke.

Walkers had begun to filter into the alley, blocking their only escape.

"Oh, fuck." Ashton heard Luke mumble, abd he knew he was right.  
They were fucked.

 

  
"Fucking dead assholes."   
The dark haired boy sat up against the front door, wincing every time the dull thud echoed through the splintering wood. They'd seen his flashlight through the window, and probably heard it when he dropped his tin bucket on the floor. So, that's how he ended up in this position, his knees drawn to his chest, a baseball bat in his lap.   
The world was shit, the empty house was his only comfort, and even then, he wasn't alone.   
He had Mali-Koa. His sister, albeit a zombie, was his only friend in the apocalypse. It wasn't uncommon for him to stand outside the door, mumbling about things that happened so long ago. About that time at grandma's house, about that time they'd found a kitten and begged to keep it, but they had to give it up.  
It was like old times, and sometimes, in the hissing and growling, he could hear his sister again, in the undead monster.

The banging on the door made him jump, and he stood up quickly, beginning a pacing regime, the bat rested across his shoulders.   
He'd had to use it before, of course, that's why there were bloodstains on the end of the wood. He really should have invested in a metal bat.

Heaving a sigh, he stopped, moving to look out the window- A crack in the particle board that covered the window, rather. Dark eyes flickered over the street, broad shoulders rising and falling in a huff.

The Walkers were mulling around his yard, clawing at the door and growling. He'd left the garden gate open, when he'd gotten home from his camping trip a little over two months ago. The gate, swinging in the wind, clanging, metal against metal, drew too many zombies for comfort. But there was nothing he could do about it. Not with his friends on the porch.

With a groan, he looked across the street at the other abandoned houses when he could have sworn he saw a flicker of movement in the upstairs window... Must have been the neighbor boy, zombified and decomposing, mulling around his house, the same thing he was doing when he was alive. Heh.   
Not funny, right.

Michael,  the neighbor kid, had been living across the street from him since they were eight, and hell if Calum hadn't noticed.   
He was kinda gorgeous, sue him for thinking so. Not that he'd ever spoken to him. That was a step too far.   
It was kind of sad that he was dead.   
Wait.

The front door, across the street! It was opening!

"Hey! Yeah you, mother fuckers! Come on, I'm talking to you, ugly! Come here!"  
He was yelling.   
Michael was yelling and jumping around his porch! It was in that moment that Calum decided that Michael was an idiot. Who the hell did he think he was?!  
Cal wanted to run outside and shout at him, until he saw exactly what he was doing. He was drawing the zombies... Away from him! Gasping, Calum stumbled back, his feet sinking into the creme colored carpet. His Converse were on, something his mother would murder him for. He didn't care.   
Now was his chance!

Looking out the window beside the door, he grinned, hurrying out and swinging his bat, cracking the one straggling Walker under the chin and watching as it stumbled back and collapsed, dead.   
From there, he sprinted down the red brick path, practically leaping at the gate and slamming it shut, locking the padlock quickly. He doesn't linger in the yard, because he can hear gunshots coming from across the street. Is that moron really shooting at the Walkers?!   
He flew back inside, closing the door quickly and quietly. Look, he was cute and all, but if the blond across the street decided to get eaten, Calum couldn't do a thing about it. Better Michael than himself.   
So maybe that was a lie. He didn't want anyone to get ripped apart by zombies.

With a sigh, Calum leaned against the wall and dropped his bat, wiping his sweaty hands on his (ironic) Drop Dead tee shirt. This was fun. The whole apocalypse thing.

The sound of the fence rattling jarred him from his thoughts, and he stood bolt upright, grabbing his weapon as he whirled around, his hand on the doorknob, getting ready to turn it when a shout of pain made him freeze.   
Living.   
Breathing.   
Hurt.   
Calum took a deep breath, dropping his bat and opening the door, taking in the scene that was taking place in his front yard.

Michael laid in the grass, unmoving, his right leg coated in blood. He'd tried to scale the fence, and while he'd gotten to where he was going, it was clear that he'd gotten more than he bargained for, considering he was unconscious and losing blood.   
And on top of that, Walkers were lining up at the fence, spitting and snarling, reaching through the chain links and ripping off chunks of their own rotten flesh in the process.

"Fuck." Cal muttered, rushing into the grass and kneeling beside the paler boy, checking his pulse.   
Thank goodness for the first aid classes he took as a Boy Scout.  
Michael was breathing, and maybe even a little conscious, given the way his face was contorted in pain, a grimace of discomfort adorning his otherwise pretty features.

"Come on, please don't be dying." He muttered, scowling as he stood up, grabbing Michael around the torso and proceeding to drag him through the grass and unceremoniously up the three white stone porch steps, and in through the front door, which he kicked shut as soon as Michael had cleared the threshold.   
As he stood over him, trying to think of what to do, he glanced at the wound on his leg and cringed, seeing the deep gash that has torn through his jeans, going up his shin to his knee. Calum groaned, rubbing his face before hurrying to the kitchen to find the first aid kit.   
This was bat shit crazy, to be honest. Calum, less than an hour ago, was completely content to just sit and be the last living person on earth, but then, Mr. Perfect-Hair McPorcelain Skin had showed up, and the Maori boy's plans of wallowing in self pity were dashed. That was annoying.   
Grabbing a few towels (avoiding the ones he knew that his mother loved), Calum slipped back into the foyer, kneeling beside Michael and beginning to clean up the mess on his leg silently, mopping away the blood and pouring alcohol over the wound, wincing when the broader boy jerked as a natural reaction.   
The gash needed stitches, clearly,  and Cal had no clue how to do that. He sighed, binding it tightly and standing up, stepping towards the kitchen to wash his hands, when the loudest crash he'd heard in two months- or his whole life- sounded, and he ran to the window, staring out as he saw his fence falling, a horde of Walkers push in towards the house.

"Oh fuck me!" Calum cried out, not even caring as Michael stirred behind him.

"Mm...if you insist."


	2. chapter two

Royally fucked.   
Those were the only words to describe the situation.   
Ashton was holding the injured girl tightly, Luke in front of them, his knife drawn as the horde advanced on them. There were too many. There was no fucking way they could fight them off.

"Luke! The fence!" The call jarred the young man from his thoughts. Spinning on his heel, he sucked in a deep breath before sprinting across the slick concrete,  his boots sliding across whatever the hell had been left there-  
Oh, wait, it was guts. Walker guts.   
Great.  
Luke tried to ignore the disgusting surroundings, even when he fell again, splattering blood across his front.

"Ashton, come on!" He yelled as he clambered up, hurrying to the huge fence.   
"We have to move the dumpster!"

The brunet nodded, setting the girl down and getting to Luke's side as quickly as possible.

"Alright, ready? One, two, three!" Together, the boys shoved the unit hard, moving it to the desired position, up against the splintered wooden planks that made up the fence. Luke climbed up first, with no intention of leaving either of his friends, new or old, behind.   
Ashton hurried back to Tate, hauling her up underneath her arms and lifting her up to Luke, who grabbed her around the torso and pulled her to safety.

"C'mon, Ash!" He called down.

The Walkers, they were closing in, covering ground rapidly and filling up the narrow alley way. The muscular man looked up at his friend, his hazel eyes wide as he glanced behind him.

"Go. Go! Take her and get her to safety!" He said, pulling the crowbar from his belt. 

This wasn't happening.   
No.

"Ashton, get your ass up here now!" Luke snapped at him, reaching down to him, but the older shook his head.

"Get her out of here, Luke!  I'll meet back up with you!" He pushed at his legs, and Luke winced. He couldn't...

"Luke, please!" The girl, Tate, was now tugging at his sleeve. What was he supposed to do?

"You're gonna meet me! You're gonna find us, and you're not gonna be dead!" Luke said, glancing at the hoard. Ashton nodded, and Luke swallowed hard, leaning down, pressing a kiss to his forehead before getting back up and grabbing the girl, lowering her down on the other side of the fence. She sat down safely, waiting for him as he jumped down without looking back.

He could hear Ashton shouting in effort as he killed zombies, and the blond's chest grew tight.

He left him. His best friend, his... He loved him, and he left him.   
A pained sob left his lips, shaking his whole body.

He *left* him there to *die*.   
The tears streamed down his blood smeared cheeks, cutting tracks in the grime, and he collapsed to his knees, leaning against the brick wall as he listened.

"L-Luke... I have a place. A safe place." Tate said softly, and the young man looked up at her, catching her dull, tired eyes. She seemed sincere, and she was unarmed. She couldn't be that dangerous. He was twice her size.   
Taking a shaky breath, he dredged up enough courage and hope to get to his feet and pull the girl up onto his back, no emotion showing through. He didn't have a reason to be happy right now. His responsibility was to get this girl back to where ever the hell she came from, make sure she was safe, then back to find Ashton.   
Taking a deep breath, he started out of the narrow passage, eyes on the barren street ahead.   
Luckily, the girl was like a damn cotton ball on his back, her hurt leg bouncing with every step Luke took, and he could hear the little grunts and whimpers of pain that she was trying to suppress.    
There wasn't anything he could do about it.

"Was he your boyfriend?" The girl asked after a few moments of silence, and Luke sighed.

"No. He was- is. He is my best friend, and he's going to survive." He replied, his voice low and firm. He believed it. Ash was strong.   
"Where are we going?"

"The auto shop, it's ahead and to the left." She went quiet after that, and Luke navigated. He'd seen it, when they'd first gotten into the town.

"My group is nice. The leader, Sarah, she's a little grumpy, but she's good."

"I'm not staying. I'm dropping you off and getting him out of there." Sure, he was being pretty gruff, but he didn't care.

"Oh. Turn right here." She pointed, and he sighed, adjusting her on his back once more.

Slowing sufficiently, he slowly let her down as they started up the dirty driveway. 

The building was white- or, it was, at one point. The green awning over the three garage doors was shredded, and the windows above shattered.   
The doors were lowered and blood spattered, the metal siding material worn down, but it seemed that it held up well against the Walkers.  
Tate took a shaky breath and started forward on her own, limping heavily on her busted leg.   
Luke stopped at the edge of the drive, and she stopped, looking back.

"Come on. We have food and water. You can recharge then get out there. Please?" She asked, and he sighed, rubbing his face.

"I... fine. Yeah." He muttered, following after her slowly as she knocked rhythmically on the large wooden door, green paint peeling, the words faded off.

"Do you have any weapons?" Tate asked, and Luke frowned.

"Not that I'm giving up." He grumbled, and she rolled her eyes as the door opened, and she was hauled inside with a yelp. Luke jumped forward, only to see her being hugged tightly by a scrawny man.

"You're hurt! We looked everywhere for you, and Sarah radioed us and told us to come back because a horde showed up!" He was saying, and she shook her head.

"I would be dead if it weren't for my friend, Luke. He just needs some water and shelter, and he and his friend, Ashton,  they saved my life!" She said, and the man looked up before nodding, motioning for him to enter. The blond did as instructed, slipping inside. The man locked the door behind him, and he winced under the scrutinizing eyes of the stranger. Even before all of this, he hated being judged and studied.

"I can't stay." He said, and sudden footsteps made him jump and look up, to where a young woman was walking down a set of metal steps from what Luke could only assume was the upstairs apartments.

"Who's our new friend?" She asked, illuminated only by the light filtering through the grimy windows.   
She was tall, almost as tall as him, and that was an achievement in itself. She was muscular,  clad in black jeans, heavy duty boots, a worn out forest green shirt and a pair of glasses on her face. Her dark brown hair was pulled up and out of her face, and a sniper rifle hung on her back.

"Sarah! This is Luke!" Tate started the introduction again, and Luke held his ground with her.  
She was kind of intimidating, though.

"What are you doing here?" Sarah asked, and Luke scowled.

"I was bringing her back to you. My friend is still out there, I have to go and get him."

"Not on your own, friend. Wait here. We'll send someone out to hunt for him." She cut him off, and he scoffed.

"Like hell. I'm going out there. I told him I'd meet him!" He snapped, and she glared.

"Fine. Go out and get yourself killed. You'll meet him again, alright. In hell."

Luke couldn't believe this.

"Luke? Come on, it's alright." Tate was still on her broken leg, surprisingly,  but she had a hand on his arm. She couldn't have been much younger than him, and she looked even younger in the light.

"...Fine. But I'm going up there, and I'm gonna watch for him, and you won't stop me." He demanded, and Sarah nodded.

"I won't try. Follow me."

 

 

It wasn't like Michael had meant to offer to fuck Calum, but it'd just kind of fallen out in an adrenaline and pain induced haze.   
All the same, the other didn't seem to appreciate it.

"Look what you did, you idiot! They brought down the fence! That noise will draw every Walker for miles!"

The fog that had settled on his mind was slowly lifting now, and Michael sat up slowly, wincing and whining at the unexpected, jarring bolt of pain that slammed his shin head on.   
That's right... he'd fallen off the fence and busted his ass...

"I-I didn't knock it over." He muttered, slowly getting to his feet and leaning against the wall in order to avoid putting any pressure on his leg.

"No, but if you hadn't decided to make all that noise, we'd both be safe right now!" Calum snapped back, and Michael couldn't help but notice the way those dark whiskey eyes lingered over his own lips for a split second more than the 'No Homo' limit allowed.

"I didn't mean to." The words stunned the boy slightly, and he looked out the front window, watching the hoards. Why did he feel the need to apologize to this guy? After all, it wasn't like Calum was an absolute young god, dressed in those jeans and sneakers, his shirt rucked up from when he'd dragged him inside. The tan skin of his hips was showing, and Michael refused to look.  
It was the zombie apocalypse,  not high school!

"We can get out the back, right?" He asked, and Calum crossed his arms, scowling.

"Yeah. Come on." He muttered, trudging first to the hallway closet, then towards the kitchen. Michael followed, but paused when he heard banging upstairs.

"Uh... Is there someone else here?" He asked, and the dark haired boy turned back, shaking his head.

"Sister. Dead." He replied, motioning for him to follow.

"Wait, wait. You've been alone here with your sister dead upstairs?" Michael asked, tripping over his own feet as he hurried to the kitchen, where Calum had begun to shove cans of food into a backpack.

"I don't think I need to be answering your questions. You probably just got us killed." He looked up, and Michael rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, wincing as his leg flared with white hot pain once more.

"Sorry, I just... I've been alone in there for a long time. I thought you were dead, that's why I didn't think before I helped you."

Calum paused, looking back.   
"Why do you care? We barely knew each other before this shit started. You stared at Mali Koa a lot, that's all I know about you. And that your name is Mitchell, and you play guitar."

"First of all, my name is not Mitchell. It's Michael. I don't think any kind of parent would hurt their kid like that." Michael said, moving to help him.

"And second, why the hell would I be that creepy? That's weird."

Calum rolled his eyes, zipping up the backpack and slinging it over his back. He moved to the back door, and began to fill another backpack with water bottles.

"You don't play sports. And there was always loud music coming from your garage." Calum said, glancing up as Michael looked out the door to the backyard. It was pretty clear, with a small, neat patio set and a fire pit, with a stack of wood nearby, topped by a large axe.

"Yeah, mom and dad didn't let me play it that loud in my room. Apparently my amp didn't have a setting lower than ten." Michael shrugged, and Cal snorted, standing up and shoving the backpack into the paler boy's arms before leading the way outside, the baseball bat in his hand making Michael a bit more wary. Sure, he sounded and looked intimidating,  but put a weapon in his hand, and he was a little antsy.   
Michael grabbed the axe from the pile as they passed by, ignoring the look he got from Calum as he limped behind him.

He was terrified.   
He'd never had to leave his home, his comfort, his safety. There were monsters out there, ones that wouldn't hesitate to eat him alive.   
What could he do except run and hide?   
At least he wasn't alone. Calum, even though he didn't like him, was with him. And he didn't seem to want to kill him...  
Yet.   
Oh, fuck. Maybe he should ask if he was a psychopath. People often fell off the face of the earth when chaos like this happened.  Not that this had ever happened.

"Uh..." He coughed quietly as the pair started into the thick woods that made up the backyard. They led to a gorge, about a mile away. The waterfall that adorned it had been the place where Mikey's senior photo's had been taken, even though he'd not gotten to finish the school year.

"Uh what?"

Michael laughed awkwardly.   
"You're not gonna kill me, right? Or leave me to die somewhere?"

Calum looked back, an amused look on his face.   
"Don't give me a reason to and I won't, got it?"

"What?!" Michael looked up, genuinely concerned. He didn't want to die, even if it was by the hands of the guy he definitely didn't have a crush on since he was ten.   
Biceps for days.

"You really think I could kill you? Seriously? I have a baseball bat and you have an axe. I'm not stupid." Calum chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he led the way, stepping over a rotted out log.   
Michael sighed, taking longer to get over the same obstacle, cringing as he put weight on his bad leg.   
Calum glanced back, frowning as he saw Michael struggling.

"Wait for a sec." He mumbled, looking around before picking up a large stick, easily five feet in length, and holding it out to the injured boy.

"Walking stick."

Michael smiled lightly, taking it gratefully and leaning on it as they continued their walk of death. Maybe  Calum would wait to kill him until they were at the gorge. That would be nice.


	3. chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a shorter chapter, unfortunately. production has slowed a bit.

Ashton didn't die. No hoard of Walkers could bring him down. He wouldn't allow it.   
He didn't know how many he brought down, but there were tons. Thirty or forty, maybe, and they kept coming and coming, over and over. One after the other. And, one after the other, Ashton slaughtered them, his crowbar serving him well, breaking skulls and slowly but surely opening up a path for him.   
That is, until he missed his mark, on one particularly fresh Walker, one who'd not decomposed quite enough for the bar to go through the body completely, and instead, trapped the weapon in hard bone.

"Shit! No, no, come on!" He cried out, trying to pull it free, but couldn't.    
"Fuck!" He had no choice. They were still advancing.   
Spinning on his heel, he swung his arm, his fist going straight through rotted out bone and brain.

"Ew!" He yelled, like a child, even though he was already smocked in blood and guts. Turning again, he wrenched his crowbar free, going to town at the last few until he was soaked in crimson fluid,  and he was surrounded by Walker bodies. His chest heaved and he turned instinctively, looking around for more undead that would have him for lunch. To his relief, there were none, but for how long, he knew not.  
Taking a shaky breath, he started out of the alley, his knuckles white around his weapon.   
He needed to find Luke.   
Luke.  
He was alive. The Walkers had come for *him*, not Luke. He had to have gotten the girl to the safe house, but... Where was it?

He reeked of dead guy, dripping blood, but he wasn't hurt. He was exhausted, dragging himself down the barren, dusty street, leaving red footprints behind him as he walked. He needed to make sure Luke was okay.   
He couldn't have another Lauren and Harry situation. He couldn't...

It was so long ago, but he'd sworn that he'd protect them, that he'd keep them safe.   
He'd sworn the same to Luke,  but with the kids...   
He'd been forced to watch them die.

He wouldn't let Luke go. Not like this.

The trek through the streets was exhausting;  Ashton felt weighed down with the ache of loss and fear, his clothes heavy on his back. The sun was setting now, clouds rolling in across the violet sky. Great.

But this could be a good thing. Maybe the safehouse would have lights inside...   
He was desperately searching for a bright side in the darkness that was threatening to swallow him whole. He couldn't give up. Not now, not when he made a promise.

The last sliver of daylight disappeared just as Ashton reached the main street intersection, his hazel eyes searching out any light in the gloom, ears pricked for the sounds of dragging feet and empty moans. He didn't want to have to deal with the dead, but if he had to, it wouldn't be pretty. At all.  
What place would these guys use for a safe house...? He sighed, rubbing his jaw anxiously. He was so tired...

What if he laid down, here? In the center of the road? It wasn't like any cars would hit him-  
A sudden, white hot pain in his shoulder jerked him back to wakefulness, the pressure and tug causing him to stumble back with a weak little huff, blinking hard.   
What... had he just... been shot?   
Shaky fingers trailing up his chest confirmed his suspicion,  dipping into the gored hole in the meaty bit, just between his collarbone and left shoulder. He couldn't breathe. Shit. Shit. SHIT.    
The sound of shouting was far off in his mind now, as he slowly sank to his knees, his hands weak as he collapsed against cold pavement.   
He was certain he was dying, bleeding out right there.   
And he hadn't found Luke.  
  


 

Calum had absolutely no intentions of killing Michael Clifford-  
No matter how annoying or trouble making he was. He was hurt, and he'd made an honest mistake, but his intentions had been, actually, pretty sweet. He'd just wanted to help Calum.   
It was really nice, finding out your neighbor was alive and wanting to make sure you're alright. And really, if Cal had just been more careful, he wouldn't have had the problems to begin with.

He'd begun trying to rationalize in his mind, as he trudged through the woods, listening to the uneven gait of his newfound friend just behind him. Soft grunts of effort could be heard as well; Michael's leg probably hurt more than he was willing to admit. He felt bad for laying into him the way he had.   
But to be fair, Michael had offered to fuck him the moment he woke up. Honestly? A little weird.   
  
"So, after the falls, where then?" The voice stirred Calum, and he glanced back, hauling the strap of his backpack up a bit more.   
  
"There's a town near here. Probably ransacked, but we don't exactly have a choice. It should be a couple hours on foot. If we try, we can make it by dawn." He replied, pausing as he looked ahead.   
  
"We'll stop here for tonight."


End file.
